


At the Stroke of Midnight

by starrysummernights



Series: Consent [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Consensual Kink, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, Heavy BDSM, Long Term Orgasm Denial, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Ruined Orgasms, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights/pseuds/starrysummernights
Summary: The, um, more extreme (?) sequel to Immutable Intimacy, 2 of 2. Alternative sequel in which Sherlock does not use his safeword, is kept locked a bit longer, John tells him his plan- and Sherlock gets to come.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally shameless porn. There is no shame here. Literally none.
> 
> There will be 2 chapters. I will post the second chapter before the stroke of midnight :D

When John told Sherlock his plan one chilly night in November, on the anniversary of Sherlock’s last orgasm (a _ruined_ orgasm but for Sherlock there were no other kinds), there were lots of questions which immediately sprang to Sherlock’s mind.

John whispered his plan in Sherlock’s ear as the two of them were wrapped as close as it was possible to be, enjoying some much needed aftercare since John had spent hours whipping Sherlock’s cock, keeping Sherlock tied and restrained the entire time in the position he loved best, exposing every part of Sherlock’s body to his perusal and use.

It had been part of their celebration to commemorate the anniversary of Sherlock’s last orgasm- even ruined as it had been. John teasingly reminded Sherlock that the key word was ruined _orgasm_ and so for Sherlock, who didn't feel pleasure like John, it counted. It was a record for both of them, and John had told Sherlock he was so proud of him. Sherlock warmed under John’s praise, like a flower opening to the sun, and even though it had been difficult, even though he’d been afraid he couldn’t fulfill what John wanted because at times it had felt impossible, he was proud of himself as well. 

As a reward, Sherlock had been allowed to come- if he could do so without any help from John beyond his use of Sherlock’s favorite flogger, lashing his cock to a painful orgasm. The chance to actually come- knowing it would be painful but more than likely not ruined which was an unimaginable event- had been impossible for Sherlock to resist.

And impossible to accomplish. He had tried though. Very, very hard.

Just having his cock unlocked from the cage was enough to set Sherlock's nerve endings on fire because it was the first time it'd been unlocked in more than six months. His hands were bound behind his back so he couldn’t touch himself and, in a cruel twist, John wouldn't touch him either. He only smiled, kissing Sherlock’s forehead, before leaving him that way for a bit, to just enjoy having an erection. To be fair, it was an ability Sherlock hardly ever experienced. He could count on one hand the number of erections John had allowed him over the last few years, and even though it felt amazing to finally get hard...Sherlock stared at his cock and whimpered, imagining what it would feel like to be touched. His cock was rarely touched, never given pleasurable strokes and caresses- and he almost cried when he remembered he wouldn’t feel any of that. He had to come from the flogger.

Even that knowledge didn’t stop Sherlock from fantasizing and he stared down at his hard cock, flexing upward hopefully, with such unabashed need that John leisurely wanked himself to the sight, coming over Sherlock’s upturned face before picking up the flogger.

Sherlock both loved and hated it when John whipped his cock. Pleasure and pain mixed together, confusing and heady, until he couldn’t tell if he wanted to beg for more, or beg for it to stop. Each fiery lash against his cock built the pressure inside him which had collected week by week, and month by month. He was so close. He wanted to come. It had been so long. He knew this orgasm would be painful- how could it not with the flogger? But it wouldn’t be ruined. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been allowed to come and it hadn’t been ruined.

His orgasm promisingly ready to be unleashed, he humped the air, wishing John would touch him, wishing he could touch himself, clenching his muscles, cock hard and red, leaking a wet patch on the floor between his legs...almost...he was almost...so close...he was going to...to...

But just when Sherlock thought another lash would be all it would take, one more and he would come, John would unerringly bring the flogger down on his swollen, exposed testicles which dangled between his shivering thighs. The pain, racing up through his gut, was enough to eliminate any orgasm Sherlock had thought possible.

Then, John would begin all over again, slapping Sherlock’s cock with the leather tongue so that it bobbed and his body writhed helplessly, carefully watching as he worked Sherlock closer and closer to orgasm...lead him right to the edge...then more pain. His orgasm prevented. And the cycle would begin all over again.

In the end, Sherlock hadn’t been able to come.

John sweetly laid Sherlock out on the bed, loosening the ropes and rubbing cream on the lashes decorating the tops of Sherlock’s thighs. For the first time in years, he sucked Sherlock’s cock, as gently as he could, but Sherlock had still cringed as the smarting, sensitive flesh both begged for the contact and screamed to get away.

John sucked him until the pain finally drained away and was replaced with honeyed pleasure. Sherlock twisted, sobbing, tears streaking down his temples from the intensity of the pleasure, John’s mouth around his cock a barely remembered feeling and he was so grateful he’d been given such a gift-

Hi raced to the edge, his entire body aching and his testicles drawn up so tight it hurt. He frantically begged to be allowed to come-

“Not tonight, love. You had your chance, and you missed it. _This_ was just a little treat because you've done so well for me. I’m so proud of you.” John had explained, smiling, kissing the head of Sherlock’s cock and watching it twitch, precome spooling from the tip. “Did you mean that you wanted a ruined orgasm? I’ll allow you one tonight, if you want. It's still an orgasm for you...just a different kind.”

Sherlock sobbed, closing his eyes in defeat. He wanted to come, actually come and feel pleasure again, but a ruined orgasm was something at least. A small, frustrating release. “Please…”

“Please what, love?”

Sherlock’s throat bobbed as he swallowed back desperate tears but his cock leaked, betraying his arousal. “Please may I have a ruined orgasm, sir?”

“Good boy.” John praised and then his hand was wrapped around Sherlock’s straining cock and stroking, no teasing, and _oh_. It felt like heaven. Even knowing he wasn’t going to come, Sherlock had moaned, spreading his legs as wide as possible and twisting his hips as he felt himself nearing the edge again. Maybe this time, John would relent. He had been good. It had been so long. Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please let me, please…

“Please, oh, please let me, oh, please let me, oh, please, oh, please-“

But John was merciless and just as Sherlock felt his orgasm crest, a second away from breaking over him in the scintillating pulses of relief he needed, John snatched his hand away from his cock and smacked Sherlock’s balls. Sherlock cried out in pain, then watched as his cock weakly dribbled out thick streams of come, untouched and without any pleasure. It ran down his cock and dripped onto his testicles which spasmed, pushing out more, not understanding the difference from spilling their load like this or spilling it from actual orgasm. And once it was over, the need was still there, just beneath the surface and Sherlock shivered, unable to contain it.

John gathered Sherlock’s come from his ruined orgasm and used that to stroke himself off, knelt over Sherlock’s thighs, giving himself the pleasure Sherlock couldn’t have. Sherlock watched raptly, mouth open as he panted, and when John came all over his still hard cock, Sherlock heard himself whispering…

“Thank you, John. Thank you, oh please… thank you oh please let me, please let me, John, thank you, oh please….”

John gathered Sherlock in his arms and whispered gently. “Remember what I told you. I’ll let you come eventually. A little longer and I’ll let you. I promise.”

The ice being applied to Sherlock’s cock was both a blessing and a curse, soothing the bruised flesh but forcing it to shrink so the cage could be locked back on and Sherlock almost cried from the sheer want of the orgasm he hadn’t had- and wouldn’t have for a while longer. John hugged him, kissing him and touching him comfortingly while Sherlock clung to him, trembling...and then John told him the plan.

* * *

 

Sherlock silently turned over the prospect, inspecting it from all angles and looking for any hidden flaws or secret meanings. Between his thighs, his cock throbbed, hurting from the whipping and the tight steel rings forcing it to stay soft. It was distracting, and the idea of actually being allowed to come- after what John had already put him through that night- scattered his thoughts, but after serious reflection, he voiced the concern that worried him most.

“What do ’10 strokes’ mean? Exactly?” If he were going to reach a goal, he needed to know the precise logistics to gauge an accurate conjecture of success.

“My hand, up and down your cock fully, from top to bottom, once, counts as one stroke.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock scooted closer to John, ignoring his cock as much as he could. It wasn’t easy. He wanted to reach down and touch himself, to stroke at the steel, which was a habit he'd fallen into since they’d made the cage permanent. His cock was always locked and never touched, and so he fingered the small parts of his cock he could through the bars. John hadn't stopped him. They both knew it was pointless. It wouldn’t help. It never did.

And since he knew now when he would be allowed to come, since he knew John’s plan, his need doubled, tripled, to levels he hadn’t thought possible, clenching his stomach and making him ache. He sighed, overwrought, and tried to think John’s scenario through.

It had the distinct promise of reward.

On New Year’s Eve, at 11:45 pm, John would unlock Sherlock’s cock and if Sherlock was able, during the 10 second countdown to the new year, before the stroke of midnight, come from just 10 strokes to his cock…he was allowed to come. A real, full, pleasurable orgasm, the very thought of which made Sherlock shudder, cock straining against the steel. It was a devious, cruel plan.

Sherlock _loved_ it.

He wished he could get hard. His cock was a torment as he became more and more aroused at the thought of being allowed to feel pleasure again. His bruised flesh fought against the steel and he whimpered, finally giving in and reaching down to rub at the small parts of his cock that bulged around the rings. It only made it worse and Sherlock shuddered. He would surely be able to come in 10 seconds, but…

“What if I can’t?” He whispered, giving voice to what troubled him the most about John’s plan. He knew John had faith he could do it. Otherwise, John would never have suggested it. He liked to tease Sherlock, but never set him up for failure. Even tonight with the flogger, there had been a few times Sherlock thought he could come from having his testicles lashed. It was why he hadn’t used his safeword. It had been a very real possibility.

“What if I can’t come like that?”

“Then you can’t.” John shrugged and he ran a palm along Sherlock’s back comfortingly...but looked down to watch Sherlock stroking at his cage with dark eyes. Sherlock moaned against John’s shoulder, clutching at him, his fingernails digging into his skin as he tried to fight the urge to hump against him. He stroked faster, fingers feverish over the small bits of skin he could touch. His cock throbbed, and clear fluid oozed from the tip.

“Then I can’t _but_ -?” Sherlock knew there was more. John laughed quietly near the bend of his neck. The sensation traveled straight to Sherlock’s groin and settled, fiery and substantial, between his legs and his hips twitched forward as his need consumed him. The idea of a real orgasm, something John hadn’t allowed him in over two years, something Sherlock had believed he wouldn’t get to experience again- was overwhelming, just as John had known it would be. Now that he knew when he would be allowed, it was all Sherlock could think of. It was why John had told him now, more than a month before the event. The knowledge, the weight of expectation, would drive Sherlock just as wild as the orgasm itself would.

“Well,” John said contemplatively, as if he were just now giving this thought, but he wasn’t fooling either of them. “If you can’t come at exactly 12:00 midnight after your ten strokes- and I won’t cheat you on them, Sherlock. I know it’s been a very long time for you and I really do want to see you come. After this long? Christ. Even I can’t wait- can’t imagine how you feel.” He giggled and Sherlock moaned. “I’ll play fair. But if you can’t…let’s just say, it’ll be your last chance at coming for a while.”

Sherlock whimpered and this time he did thrust, snatching his hands away and undulating his hips, rubbing the cage against John’s upper thigh. He couldn’t feel John’s skin, couldn’t really feel anything except the way the cage tugged at his imprisoned cock every time he moved. That was enough to drive him mad, that small bit of sensation, but he chased it relentlessly. He panted against John’s shoulder and thrust harder. John grasped Sherlock’s hips, urging him on, which Sherlock did with another moan.

“Please, John…” He whispered, pressing the cage against him harder. “Please, let me...please…” He felt precome spool from the tip of his cock, slicking John’s thigh and he was helpless to ask his next question, even though he knew what John would probably say. “What’s a while?”

“If you can’t come, it will be a chance squandered. It’ll be obvious that you don’t really need to come as much as you say you do, so you’ll be punished for lying to me.” He teased, grinning, and Sherlock was hypnotized by the fantasy John was spinning for him. “I’ll stop right after ten strokes, Sherlock, no matter how close you are, and use the ice to lock you back in the cage. Then, we’ll wait the four or five months we usually do until you’re released and I might let you try again. Maybe.”

Sherlock gasped, choking on how much he wanted in that moment- something, anything, even if it was another ruined orgasm. His cock pulsed against the limits of the cage. He pressed against John harder, begging in his attempts to find relief.

“Please, John. Oh please...I need to...please let me...John….please- John-!”

“Or maybe,” John’s voice was dark and he kissed him, biting at Sherlock’s lips and rolling him onto his back. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s hips and he felt the slick slide of lube leaking from his arse. Between them, John was touching himself, getting hard, and his knuckles repeatedly bumped against Sherlock’s caged cock as he stroked himself. Sherlock could only enviously watch, his own cock forced to stay soft. The cage- and John- allowed for nothing else.

”Maybe it won’t just be a couple more months.” He whispered, knowing the aphrodisiac effect the threat would have on Sherlock. The idea of his denial period being cruelly extended, while torture to his cock, turned Sherlock on even more.

“If you aren’t able to come when I allow it…maybe we’ll just wait another year...until _next_ new year’s eve…and try again. It’s already been so long anyway. Hasn’t it? May as well wait. It’s not like you deserve to come...do you?”

”No.” Sherlock whispered, agonized, thrusting his hips and shifting on the bed, unable to stay still. “I...I don’t...but John...oh, god...please...I...need to come...please-“

John slid his cock into Sherlock’s arse and Sherlock groaned as John immediately started thrusting, quick and fast, their skin slapping against each other. Sherlock hung on while his cock leaked and ached.

“Please, John- need to come...need...oh god...please-“

“I know, sweetheart. I know you do. And you’ll be able to come at midnight, won’t you?” John asked heatedly.“You’ll be able to come like that for me, won’t you?” His short, sharp thrusts were designed to get him off the quickest and Sherlock groaned, letting himself be used for John. “All this time won’t have been for nothing. Will it? After all this time- so long, Sherlock, god I’m so proud of you, you have no idea- you’ll be able to come like that for me. I know you can.”

“Yes, John!”

“Yes. Love. _Fuck_. I’m _so_ proud of you, Sherlock. So fucking proud, I can’t believe you’ve waited this long. Can’t believe you’ve allowed me to do this, you’ve been so good. I’ll make your orgasm amazing. Fuck-!”

John’s cock brushed against his prostate and it was too much. Sherlock reached between them and grasped at his own cock, fingers scraping against the steel before frantically tugging on it, not in an attempt to remove it, but to give himself some sort of feeling. He was so close.

John fucked into him, breath hitching as he neared his own orgasm, Sherlock’s cock unimportant. He never came. They both knew this was only for John’s pleasure- it always was- but Sherlock’s body had been pushed to its limit. It clamored for release.

Sherlock cried out, distressed, and they both watched, for different reasons, as his constricted cock pushed out a thick gush of come. It was a mocking parody of orgasm almost worse than the ruined one from earlier. Sherlock moaned in disbelief, even if it wasn’t the first time it had happened while John fucked him. It was why he didn’t think he remembered what it felt like to come. Sometimes he “came” like this, his body juddering towards climax and then…nothing. Ropes of come but no feeling of completion. No relief.

“God, yes. So gorgeous, love...so gorgeous...love to see you do that...fuck- I’m gonna come-!” John shoved his cock into Sherlock one more time and groaned in relief. Sherlock could feel his cock pulsing inside him. He closed his eyes, body needy and distraught, slicked with his own pleasureless ejaculation, but this time, it was different. This time, there was no nebulous orgasm somewhere in the distant future. There was an actual date. A time. A plan.

“Thank you, John. Thank you.” Sherlock kissed him, pulling his head down so he could press their lips together in a hard, bruising kiss. He loved this man and what he did for him, the fantasies he played out for Sherlock, and this had been a brilliant plan of John’s. He couldn’t wait to fulfill it, and not just because he wanted to come. He wanted to make John even prouder of him.

“I love you, Sherlock.” John whispered back, heartfelt and loving and between them, Sherlock’s cock pushed out one last gush of come.

* * *

 

For the last three years, his monthly milkings were the closest Sherlock ever got to orgasm. John had been milking him for years and it was a familiar sensation, but ever since the cage became permanent and orgasms a thing of the past, Sherlock craved the day he got milked. He looked forward to it with hopeful desire....

The ruined orgasm from the previous night had drained him somewhat, but John’s sure and steady fingers, slick with lube, quickly rubbed at Sherlock’s prostate. They had been at it for a while, Sherlock on his hands and knees in the sitting room, naked save for his collar and cage. His body tensed, heat flashing through him as he slowly neared an end.

John’s fingers became more insistent, knowing Sherlock was getting close to spilling his load by the way his body tightened, his arse clenching around his fingers. Sherlock thrust forward, rutting his cage into the air, his restrained cock tingling. The pleasure built slowly, so slowly, feeling like a dream from long ago that he only half remembered. It rose through his whole body, choking and thick and promising, even though his cock still cringed in its cage, not even trying to get hard anymore when this happened. Years of repetition had taught it the utter futilely of such actions...but the years had not taught the same to Sherlock.

Sherlock knew he would come this time. He had to. It felt so good. He was aroused. Needy. He humped faster, grunting. It felt...like he could...he could....please- his testicles drew up tight under the restrictive steel band- Sherlock moaned, working his body faster, fucking himself back on John’s fingers and his mouth fell open at the surge of arousal. He was so close-

A ringing slap to his arse jolted him back to reality, along with John’s stern: “None of that now. Don’t be greedy, Sherlock. Stay still. Let me do this for you.”

Sherlock quaked, his body’s need for release overwhelming. “Yes...yes, please, John. I’m sorry...it’s only...oh god...I’m so close this time...I’m so close...”

John chuckled. “Are you, love?” His fingers slid deeper inside Sherlock, twisting, but his fast rhythm of earlier slowed, the brushes to Sherlock’s prostate long and slow and hard, no longer driving him to the edge but gently coaxing him. Sherlock shook his head, moaning, pleading. He knew what John was doing.

”No- John...please, John, please...I’m...oh...so close, John...please...please, let me...I’m going to...to...”

”Sshhh. Come on, Sherlock. I know, love, I know.”

Of course John knew. He always knew.

Sherlock panted, trembling, and John’s touches slowed even more, a barely there press and release that made tears gather in Sherlock’s eyes.

Reality crashed over him and Sherlock screwed up his face to keep from sobbing, hot tears slipping past his lashes as he did his best to stay still like John asked of him. He wasn’t going to be allowed to come from this. He never had been. John would never let him. He should’ve known better.

“Yes, there you go, sweetheart. There you go. Good boy, love. You’re always so good for me. Doing what I ask you to. Makes me so proud of you, Sherlock. So fucking proud.”

Sherlock sobbed. He already knew what he would see, but looked down...and watched his cock pitifully dribble out a weak line of semen, testicles contracting as his issue was forced from his body. The feeling of orgasm faded away as if it’d never been and he moaned when more semen spilled out in a thick rush which, instead of bringing him relief, felt like pissing. Sherlock fucked into the air, needing to come, helpless to stop himself from trying because his body knew something else should be happening while this occurred, but after so long was confused as to what.

”Please...John...please, please...”

While he watched his soft cock pathetically drip out more semen, Sherlock shuddered, wondering what it would feel like to reach orgasm again. It’d been so long since he had- literal years- and he knew the last time had felt amazing. _That_ orgasm had taken place after more than a year of denial and ruined orgasms and his pleasure had been painful as his come spurted out hard in quick, sharp pulses. The memory made Sherlock whine and he humped forward again as more semen drip-drip-dripped out of his cock and onto the dish below.

”Gorgeous, Sherlock. So fucking gorgeous. Almost done, love. You’re almost done.” John breathlessly encouraged and Sherlock sobbed again and forced himself to stay still. He trembled from want, trying to remember what it’d felt like to come when he was hard, his cock in no way restrained, and his come shooting out in relieving, satisfying bursts. He wasn’t allowed to come like that. Even the few times John gave him ruined orgasms, his come dribbled and leaked like it did while he was being milked. It felt nothing like the strong pulses of come shooting from his cock that he saw John enjoy, groaning and shaking, and Sherlock always watched John when he came like that, squirming. He wanted to feel that again. He could barely wait for the end of the month.

His legs were shaking by the time they were done, and John let him kneel by the table while he showed Sherlock the saucer of come he’d collected.

“Clean that up, love.” He ordered, smiling fondly when Sherlock immediately bowed his head to the dish. It wasn’t a rare request. John usually fed him back his spendings at the end of a milking, and this time was particularly special because-

“That’s the last time I’ll milk you until you’re allowed to come. Unless you tell me you need it, of course. I want you on edge, ready, for New Year’s Eve, and milking you would make it harder to come. I know that.” John stroked Sherlock’s hair and he pushed up into the caress. John chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you come, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock licked his lips and John bent down to kiss him, tongue sweeping inside Sherlock’s mouth to taste his come on his tongue, sucking on it to draw as much flavor into his mouth as possible.

“I can’t fucking wait.” He murmured again, and Sherlock didn’t need to say that he felt the same way. They both knew he did.

* * *

 

John didn’t unlock Sherlock again until New Year's Eve. He wanted Sherlock’s cock to be extra sensitive on the 31st and while Sherlock could understand why, he missed getting hard. But John usually only unlocked his cock once every four or five months anyway, and Sherlock looked forward to those days with breathless anticipation. In comparison to that, waiting for only one month seemed easy.

More than once, Sherlock woke from a dream he couldn’t remember, his body slicked with sweat and humping his cage against the bed, his cock frantically pulsing and heartbeat racing. It was always hard to settle, and Sherlock would lay awake in the dark, torturing himself by stroking the cage and imagining what would happen on New Year’s Eve. What it would feel like...

He’d asked John for chastity and denial, and was grateful that John was willing to give this to him. He loved how John pushed him, beyond what he thought he was capable of and he’d reached new levels of his submission, and in his trust in John, that had strengthened their relationship, both in and out of the bedroom. He trusted John with his life, of course he would trust him to make the right decisions for himself and his cock and orgasms. John would never hurt him- unless Sherlock asked him to and they both got off on it.

Sherlock smirked in the darkness, but the thought did nothing to help ease the desperate state his body was in.

But what would it feel like to have his cock hard and flushed, testicles drawing up without restraint? Slickness and movement and knowing the looming orgasm wouldn’t be snatched away at the last possible second? Knowing that for the first time in two years it wouldn’t be ruined, and he was actually going to come? He couldn't imagine. Sherlock shuddered, fingers working feverishly over the unfeeling steel, unable to sleep.

* * *

 

When John fucked him, he whispered to Sherlock how he couldn’t wait to see him come, and how good it would feel. He told him that if he came when he wanted him to, for the whole next month Sherlock would be allowed to come however, and whenever, he wanted- even during sex- as many times as he wanted. He’d still have to ask permission but John would never say no and none of his orgasms would be ruined.

It was an unprecedented idea. Sherlock had _never_ been allowed that. In the more than 6 years since they'd been doing this, the dominance and submission, John strictly stuck to his one-orgasm-at-a-time rule whether he denied Sherlock for two months or seven. Sherlock shuddered with the fantasy of being allowed to come over and over, until his body was sated in a way he hadn't thought he would get to feel again. In a way that, after so many years, he honestly couldn’t remember.

John's words crawled like ants beneath Sherlock’s skin and more than once his cock pushed out come in its parody of orgasm. The sight of it- and Sherlock’s accompanying despairing groan- was always enough to push John over the edge.

“A few more days, sweetheart,” John whispered, licking up Sherlock’s come from where it decorated his testicles and oozed from his cage after John finished fucking him.“A few more days and you’ll be allowed to come for real. I’m so proud of you, Sherlock. You’ve been amazing through this entire thing, so good. So good for me, love. I’ll make it feel so good for you, Sherlock. I promise.”

Sherlock closed his eyes as John’s tongue probed between the bars of the cage, licking at the exposed head of Sherlock’s cock to get at the come that was gathered there and making his legs shake. It was only a few more days. A few more days.

He fumbled and reached for John’s hand, finding it and gripping it tightly. A few more days. He could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: please keep in mind that both Sherlock and John are consenting adults and while they may play out a kinky fantasy, no one is being forced/coerced to do anything and there are safe words in place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: please keep in mind that both Sherlock and John are consenting adults and while they may play out a kinky fantasy, no one is being forced/coerced to do anything and there are safe words in place.

John reclined on the bed and maneuvered Sherlock to sit between his splayed legs, with his back against John’s chest. Sherlock was so nervous his muscles were jumping, breath coming shallow and quick. He was going to get to come. Tonight. In less than an hour. After all those torturous, seemingly limitless months…tonight he would orgasm.

Before settling on the bed, they had both undressed. Sherlock had wanted to strip off his clothes as much as possible so they could begin, but John turned the task into an amorous endeavor, insisting he undress Sherlock himself and kissing every inch of skin he revealed. By the time he was done, Sherlock’s cock was already leaking and he was sick with want. John had gathered the precome from the tip of the cage and fed it back to Sherlock, before kissing him until Sherlock’s knees went weak.

John tied Sherlock’s hands to his sides, his wrists anchored by black ropes to his thighs, close enough to almost touch his caged cock, but not quite, and produced the key to Sherlock’s cage. Sherlock knew where it was because John never hid it from him. But the idea of retrieving it to unlock himself, even in his most desperate moments, was unthinkable. Sherlock would never break John’s trust like that. Besides, if it was too much he could always use his safeword and John would unlock Sherlock himself. It was that simple.

“I’m not going to unlock you too soon.” John said and Sherlock tried to relax, resting his head against John’s shoulder and closing his eyes while his hands rubbed anxious circles over his thighs. “It’ll be time soon, love.”

Sherlock tried to speak, found that he couldn’t, that words were beyond him, and settled for nodding.

They had moved a television into the bedroom for the special occasion and it was playing a puerile countdown show with singers and dancing, shots of celebrations all over London, and broadcasting the general excitement in the air. He and John had originally thought of doing this in the sitting room with the telly in there, but when Sherlock informed John there was no way he wasn’t screaming when he came and that he would not be responsible for what Mrs. Hudson heard, John decided to move their activities to the bedroom. It would be more comfortable there anyway.

At 11:45, as promised, John trailed the key down Sherlock’s chest, flicking softly over his nipples to watch him squirm, and inserted it in the lock of the cage. Sherlock held his breath at the distinct _click_ of the lock snapping open, as loud as a gunshot, and then, with a few deft movements from John, Sherlock’s cock was free. It was slow to harden, conditioned that getting hard only led to pain and frustration…but after a minute it realized there was nothing there to squash it back down and immediately swelled to full hardness in a surprising rush, making Sherlock cry out and twist in John’s embrace.

He stared down at his erection, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath, reaching for it, but his fingers were just able to brush through his pubic hair and no further. If he strained against the ropes, the tips of his fingers were less than an inch from touching his cock, but still too far away for actual contact. John had certainly realized what he’d been doing with the ropes earlier. Sherlock didn’t struggle for long, giving in to John’s control and relaxing against his chest once more. He really hadn’t expected to be able to touch his cock tonight anyway. It had been a few years since he’d been allowed that particular pleasure because even before this, when Sherlock came it was only with John’s hand on his cock, John’s mouth coaxing him to climax, John’s arse squeezing around him, John using a selected toy to make Sherlock squirm. He’d given control of his cock to John, and John was a jealous possessor.

He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to touch himself, but-

“Please, touch me, John. Please.” He whispered and John’s arms encircled him, squeezing him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

“I will soon, sweetheart. Just enjoy this for now.” John murmured back, hands dropping down to trace lazy lines on Sherlock’s lower stomach. “Enjoy just being hard. I’ll touch you very soon. I promise. You get to come tonight, remember, love? You’ll get to come soon.”

Sherlock nodded, overwrought, and tried to make his body stay still. It was difficult, even with John’s arms around him. He didn’t seem to be in control of anything, the muscles in his legs and thighs jumping, hips moving and pressing his arse against the bed pointlessly. And all the while, his cock was rock hard, jumping in time to his heartbeat. He breathed, watching his cock and the countdown clock on the telly.

It was the longest 15 minutes of Sherlock’s life.

At a minute to midnight, John opened the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount onto his hand. He rubbed his fingers together to warm it, spreading it over his palm, kissing Sherlock’s sensitive nape again.

“Are you ready to come, love?”

Sherlock’s throat closed up, need making him distracted. He couldn’t stop moving, squirming between John’s legs while his cock bobbed. “God, please, John- please!”

“Here we go…” John whispered, his wet hand hovering mere inches over Sherlock’s cock, provocatively promising as the clock counted down from 15…14…13…

Sherlock though he would throw up from how much he wanted, stomach a tense knot, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He wanted, god he wanted so much, and the urge to thrust up into John’s hand was irresistible. He needed it so badly. Please.

12….11… “10…”

“ _Ah_!” Sherlock cried out, spine bowing at the first slick, gratifying pass of John’s hand over his cock. Down and back up. Tight and smooth and unleashing the need in his groin-

“9…”

Another perfect stroke. Oh god. He was allowed to come. Oh god. Oh please. He was allowed to come. It wouldn't be ruined. He'd get feel real pleasure again. Sherlock spread his legs on the bed, planting his feet on the mattress, heels skidding on the bedding. Oh god, it felt so good-

“8…”

John’s hand was wonderful, snug and firm, gripping Sherlock’s cock perfectly. John had said he wouldn’t cheat Sherlock with this, and he was as good as his word. John wanted to see him come. John wanted to see him come. The pleasure was coiled tight in Sherlock’s pelvis, sitting heavily in his engorged testicles which hadn’t been allowed to release all month and they throbbed, ready, more than ready, to finally be released-

“7….”

He was getting close. Oh god, he was getting close. So close. Oh, please. _Please_. He was allowed to come this time. He was _allowed_. Sherlock moaned, frantic. He could feel his orgasm just there, rapidly unwinding through his body but he didn’t know if it would happen soon enough. There were only seconds left. He just needed more- a little more-

“6….”

He realized with despairing certainty that he wasn’t going to be able to come. John’s slow, methodical strokes, just as he’d told Sherlock he would do, synchronized to the chanted countdown on the telly, wasn’t enough. Even after almost two years, it wasn’t enough. Sherlock longed for a faster hand. Rough, quick strokes which would tear the orgasm from his anxious body which seemed intent on resisting him and John's hand. At the moment, his need boiled through his veins, burning, stirring restlessly, but his orgasm hovered stubbornly out of sight. He hadn't came in so long that maybe his body was confused by the permission to come, maybe because it expected to be denied and therefore denied itself from incidental conditioning- whatever it was, it wouldn't happen. And Sherlock just...couldn't-

“5…”

“God- John… _please, please_!” Sherlock pleaded, sobbing in misery as he strained every muscle in his lower body, trying to force himself to come. He could feel the hot slide of tears on his cheeks as his desperation and the demands of his need mounted. What would happen if he couldn’t come by the end of the countdown? Would John let him come after it was over, but ruin his orgasm? More chastity? More months without orgasm? Sherlock knew if he didn’t come before it was over, John would take his hand away- just like he always did- and Sherlock would be left, just as he had been for the last two years-

“4…”

“Come on, Sherlock. You can do it” John urged hotly, voice choked with arousal and Sherlock could feel the hardness of John’s cock pressing against the small of his back. He wondered if John would fuck him afterwards, regardless of whether or not Sherlock came. The past few year’s experience told Sherlock that yes, he would. John would come and Sherlock still wouldn’t-

“You can do this, Sherlock. You can come.”

He had to make it, Sherlock thought fretfully. He _had_ to. _He had to._ He knew John was as good as his word and if he didn’t come now-

“3….”

He would be forced to soften. Locked back up. The cage. The key. His cock pitilessly squashed behind steel bars where how it felt never mattered. John would fuck him and Sherlock would know he’d lost his chance to come. He could safeword. He knew he could. But he wanted to please John more than he wanted to come- and he wanted to come with every fibre of his being. He didn't want to disappoint John. After everything Sherlock had been through, the exquisite torture and denial John had so expertly stretched over two years, he didn't want it to end with his safeword. John had delicately worked Sherlock and his body to this point, with love and dedication, praise and unyielding control. Sherlock did not want to fail. That couldn’t happen. Please, god, no. He was close.

Please, please he was so close.

He was allowed to come this time. He was allowed to come. Sherlock could feel his testicles drawing up, painfully tight, against his body. In frantic desperation he thrust his hips upward into the tight ring of John’s hand, fucking the slick heat and breaking the rules because John had said Sherlock was only allowed 10 strokes and he expected John to take it away and tell him to stop-

“2…”

“ _Yes_ , Sherlock. Come on. Come on, sweetheart. Whatever you need. Yes- come, for me love. come on, Sherlock-” John held his hand steady and let Sherlock fuck into it with rapid snaps of his hips. Sherlock sobbed with gratitude, working his body as hard as he could, chasing his release. He had to come. Please. He had to. It had been so long. Please...please...he wanted to come...even if John didn't let him come over the next month like he said he would, Sherlock wanted to come once, just this once...he wanted to remember what it felt like...he wanted to remember-

“Please, please, please-“

“1…”

It was over- oh fuck, it was almost over...but he was almost...almost…

“Zero!! Happy New Year!!!”

“Come, Sherlock-!”

“ _Ah_!” Sherlock screamed, just as he’d told John he would, as he came, his testicles clenching rhythmically and his long waited for orgasm exploding as he finally achieved it.

Nothing had never felt this way before. Ever. Distantly, Sherlock felt warm lines of ejaculate hitting his chest as spurt after spurt was pumped from his body in quick rushes. He cried out loudly with each new pulse, twisting to get away, because there was pain. So much pain. Muscles which hadn’t been used in two years worked and strained as he orgasmed. Sherlock had known his first orgasm wouldn’t feel very good. He’d been prepared for that. But he hadn’t expected _this_. His cock didn’t so much tingle as it stung with only a vague sort of pleasure which granted more pain than blissful satisfaction. It hurt. Felt good. Pain. Pleasure. Pain. Blearily, he was glad John would be giving him many, many more orgasms after this one...

Sherlock couldn't contain it all, what he was feeling. He had to keep crying out, closing his eyes and losing himself in it. It took Sherlock’s breath away. All he could do was ride through the dual, conflicting sensations, letting John work him through it, his hand firm and perfect around his cock, moaning in Sherlock’s ear right along with him. As the people on the telly loudly cheered at the new year- firecrackers going off down the street, near their window, bright lights and loud bangs, John worked Sherlock through the rest of his orgasm, not abandoning his cock until Sherlock was shuddering from oversensitivity.

“God, you were perfect, sweetheart. _Perfect_. Fuck, Sherlock.” John breathed, gently releasing Sherlock’s cock which still jerked from fading pulses. Sherlock slumped against him, letting John hold his full weight. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed, the slide of semen tickling and distracting against his sides and he didn’t think he would be able to open his eyes. Ever again.

He had came. He had finally been allowed to come. Pride filled his chest- he'd done what John wanted, accomplished the task that had been set- closely followed by relief that it was over which filled his eyes with tears. They slipped hotly down his cheeks and John's hand brushed them away each time. He hadn't remembered what orgasm felt like, he thought dizzily, because he'd never thought it could feel like that, and he grateful to John for showing him. He would tell him, later.

“I love you. God. I love you. I’m so proud of you, Sherlock.” John was still talking, praising him, hands roaming over Sherlock’s body zealously as if he couldn’t get enough of him. Sherlock understood. It was a sentiment he always felt about John.

“Let’s get you unwound.” He said but Sherlock shook his head. He hoped John would know what he meant because words were beyond him at the moment, his body was still processing what had just happened. His mind was completely clear. He was high with it, floating above them over the bed, drifting toward the ceiling and if John unwound him now he would probably fly out the window and be lost forever.

Sherlock wondered if he had gone insane. If he had, that was fine. John would fix him, put him back together. He always did. He would put him back together, better than ever.

“All right. Just relax, Sherlock. I’ll take care of you. Just enjoy it. You’ve earned it, god, you’ve earned everything, more than that.” John hugged Sherlock to him again and Sherlock felt safe enough to drift, letting his body float around the room because John was holding him and he wouldn’t let him get lost. John would always find him. He always did. He trusted John to keep him safe, love him, take care of him, feed him….Sherlock knew there was more he trusted John to do. Laughter. Friendship. Cases. Guns. The life they'd created together. But he couldn’t make himself remember it all. He just knew he was contained in John’s arms, he was John’s equal and partner, his submissive and loved one, and John would take care of him.

“I love you, Sherlock. You don’t even know how much I love you.”

Sherlock was gliding along the ceiling, spiraling slightly, so he couldn't talk but he sighed as deeply as he could. He hoped John knew that meant he loved him too, with all of his heart. He might not though. John could be silly about things like that. When he was back in his own body and could talk again, Sherlock would tell John he loved him too. 

The tears had stopped, Sherlock's body too exhausted to continue producing them and John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple. “Go to sleep. I’ll still be here. Go to sleep.”

That made no sense. Sherlock didn’t want to go to sleep. Besides, it was impossible for people who weren’t in their own bodies, people who were floating around the room, to...go..to...go...to...sle-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was it. The most shameless thing I've ever written, basically to please myself. I hope others besides myself enjoyed :D  
> Happy New Year!!!


End file.
